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<title>Too Much of Hurting Never Hurt Me by Fudgyokra</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23771638">Too Much of Hurting Never Hurt Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra'>Fudgyokra</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics), DCU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Incest Kink, M/M, One-sided DickTim, Sexual Content</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:27:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>806</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23771638</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“He has no idea how bad you are.”</p><p><i>No,</i> Tim thinks, <i>he really doesn’t.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tim Drake/Slade Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>SladeRobin Weekend 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Too Much of Hurting Never Hurt Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Day 3: <strike>War Prize</strike> | <strike>Omegaverse</strike> | Robincest + Slade</p><p>Title from Mindless Self Indulgence’s “This Hurts.”</p><p>It’s harder than it looks to channel the Tim-uses-humor-to-cope vibe without making this into a comedy, lmaooo. Hopefully I did okay!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tim pulls a breath, getting little oxygen from it before it’s hammered out of him on another downswing. They all turn out this way: A pattern of rough, rattled gasps and crashing hips.</p><p>Slade rasps something against the side of his neck that Tim’s too lost in thought to understand, but he picks out the word “Grayson” because his one-track mind and selective hearing tend to overlap.</p><p>Dick doesn’t know about this. Sometimes Tim wishes he did, because Dick deserves the truth. Most of the time, though, he prays it will remain a secret buried.</p><p>More often than is probably healthy, he puts himself through the wringer over it, brooding one minute and making excuses in the very next breath. People have ill-advised flings all the time. It isn’t like he owes it to anyone to share details about his sex life, especially with someone who is family.</p><p>Then again, he’s screwing Dick’s worst enemy, and about eighty percent of the time, he’s thinking about Dick while doing it. So, he might have a couple of good reasons to feel guilty.</p><p>“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” Slade says. There’s a grin in his voice that tells Tim his train of thought isn’t as mysterious as he would like.</p><p>He hazards a guess at the question. “Am I thinking about him?” Just voicing the suggestion robs him of breath again, and this time he’s not sure it’s completely due to how fast he’s moving.</p><p>“You don’t have to say.” <em>How gentlemanly…</em> “I can tell from the look on your face that you are.” Tim saw that one coming.</p><p>“You are too, though,” he points out. <em>Aren’t you always?</em></p><p>Slade’s hands wrap around his waist and pull him down harder, until Tim’s vision dances with dots and streaks of colored light. He tilts his head back to deliver a moan that comes out grated.</p><p>He’s rough and raw and <em>close </em>right now, but there’s still a smear of shame on the edge of his consciousness refusing to leave him alone.</p><p>“You dream about riding his cock just like this,” Slade says, striking with deadly precision at the bullseye of Tim’s problem. It isn’t a question because it’s a fact, and Tim’s instinctive answer would mean nothing because it would be a lie.</p><p>Stubbornly, he remains silent, save for his ragged breathing, and digs his nails into Slade’s shoulders. His inner thighs burn. He feels tired, heavy.</p><p>Slade dumps him out of his lap and onto the mattress. “Go on, close your eyes. Show me how you would get yourself off with your big brother fucking you.”</p><p>Tim drags in another drowning breath when he curls his hand around himself and strokes. He doesn’t shut his eyes but lets them fall half-lidded while he stares, unseeing, at the ceiling past Slade’s shoulder.</p><p>Slade’s palm wraps around Tim’s throat, and this time his eyes do squeeze closed. He speeds his hand up, hooks a leg over Slade’s waist and ruts like a dog in heat. He’ll find the time to be humiliated later.</p><p>“Kid’s a sweetheart,” Slade tells him just as he brushes Tim’s sweaty bangs out of his face and undoubtedly indulges in the flinch Tim gives at the affectionate gesture. “Bet he wouldn’t have the stomach to call you what you really are.”</p><p>
  <em>A deviant with a complex?</em>
</p><p>“His darling baby brother”—pure heat rips through him like a current, his muscles seizing, too tense to shake—“whose innocence he thinks he has stolen.”</p><p>It’s easy to picture. Dick’s imaginary guilt over the imaginary situation doesn’t halt Tim’s chest-heaving orgasm. Might have even made it more blinding.</p><p>“Poor thing,” Slade goes on, words growled with intensity next to Tim’s ear as he pumps his hips faster. “He has no idea how bad you are.”</p><p><em>No, </em>Tim thinks, <em>he really doesn’t.</em></p><p>Whether Slade finishes or not flies so far under Tim’s importance radar that he doesn’t react to the man moving off of him until he’s done wallowing in post-coital misery. Trying for a bite he can’t quite muster, he says, “What? Done already?”</p><p>Slade snorts in time with the clink of his old-fashioned lighter flicking open. While he lights a cigarette, Tim fishes his phone from his pants on the floor.</p><p>As expected, the family is convening for the gala none of them want to attend and are speculating Tim’s whereabouts. A text here, a reply there, and he has them all convinced everything is perfectly on track.</p><p>No need to ruin the illusion, no matter how fragile.</p><p>“I gotta run,” he says, even if Slade doesn’t deserve a polite heads-up.</p><p>As if making the very point, Slade blows smoke in Tim’s direction. “Say hi to Grayson for me.”</p><p>Tim makes a concentrated effort not to consider it and ducks out the lifted window back to reality.</p>
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